A letter to dad
by JoaniexJony
Summary: In response to the 'letter from John' challenge on the GW thread. Update - I've now added a chapter 2 with extra whump, so this is now definitely a '38'minutes tag - hey, I know I am sooo late with that! Shep whump.
1. Chapter 1

Just a little drabble for the 'Letter from John' challenge on the GW thread. It's unbeta'd, so apologies in advance for any errors...

Warnings:- None.

Disclaimer:- SGA, isn't mine unfortunately.

"Hi Dad,

It's me.

Of course you probably already got that from the handwriting, that, or the military postmark.

I know we haven't spoken for a while, hell we aren't even speaking now 'cause this is just a letter. Why am I contacting you? Well, that's a good question. Let's just say something happened today that's made me want to clear up unfinished business, try to put things right between us, because life is unpredictable. No one knows what's going to happen next, least of all me these days – but that's as much as I can say about the life I'm leading now.

Fact is dad; my life has turned out okay. I have a job I love in the most awesome place, and the people, they're like family. Don't get me wrong, I know you and Dave are my blood, but let's face it I never fitted into to the life you led – the life you wanted me to lead. Here, the folks I work with get me, they really do, and more important I make a difference here, probably for the first time in my life.

Anyway, I'm not saying these things to wind you up, I just wanted to tell you I'm sorry. Not for the decision I made, because I'd never regret that – flying is my life. No, my only regret is the way things were left between us.

Back then I was only a kid. A hot-headed youngster who was fired up and ready to go, and no one, least of all you, could have stopped me. Things were said, cruel shit, unkind words from both of us. Words I didn't mean, and if I could take them back I would. Older and wiser, I now understand where you were coming from. As my dad you only wanted the best for me, the thing is if you're really honest, the kind of life you wanted me to have was yours, and I'm just not the corporate type.

Where I am now, is classified. I know what Dave thinks about that. He reckons it's a load of garbage, a story I've made up to get out of coming to visit, keep in touch. Shit, if I was in his shoes, I might even think the same thing – but it's true. It always was, and if I could come round right now instead of sending this dumb letter I would.

One day, if the powers that be allow, I hope to pay that visit. Right now, I've got to go, cause the drugs they've got me on are making me kind of woozy - I'm okay, as least I will be soon, so please, don't worry about me.

Till we meet again, take care, and give my best to Dave.

John."

ooooOoooo

Carson watched in the shadows as his patient fell asleep and the paper fluttered to the ground.

After the euphoria of the day before, John had had a rough night. He'd won his battle with the grim reaper, but survival had come at a price, and now the powerful toxin released from that bloody bug was playing havoc with his system.

Sheppard's temperature had risen steadily during the day peaking at 102, leaving his body slicked with sweat, and his hair flat, against his wane face. A rash had appeared shortly afterwards, raised, raw ugly welts, but what worried Carson most was when the normally calm, in control, major suddenly became agitated…

"Is this it? Is this what he was making all the fuss about?" Rodney stood there with the paper in his hand and was about to read it, when Carson snatched it from his hand.

Carson sighed, and felt the heat infuse his cheeks. "Whatever it is Rodney, is none of our business." He said, trying to keep the anger out his voice. "Anyway, he's asleep now, so keep your voice down."

"Well, it looked like a letter to me," Rodney grumbled, then started to rant. "which is a really dumb thing to do – because last I heard the Pegasus galaxy wasn't part of the US postal service."

Taking a deep breath to control his irritation, Carson gave Rodney a look. "I'm sure the Major knows that, Rodney, but he isn't exactly himself at the moment. Besides, a lot of people simply like to write something down on paper to give them closure – it's a recognised psychiatric tool."

Rodney rolled his eyes, then his expression changed and became concerned as he looked at the prone, still man on the bed. "Is he gonna be okay?"

Carson took the control and lowered John's bed as he spoke. "Aye, I believe so. I just wish I knew more about that bloody Iratus bug. I might have been about to do more for the laddie, and know what else to expect if I had information. Still, I daresay, there is a lot out here we still have to learn."

Carson checked John's vitals for a final time, then pulled the sheet up over his shoulders. He then dimmed the lights.

"Are you ever sorry you came, Carson? I wasn't until today, when I thought we were going to lose…" Rodney's voice trailed away, and his face went pale.

The Scot put a hand on his shoulder. "Honestly, son - sometimes. I miss my home and my old mum, but then I remember what we're doing out here. The work we do is important, Rodney, but I don't need to tell you that." Carson gave Sheppard a sideways glance. "And no one knows that more than him. Yesterday was a scunner, Rodney, and I won't deny it was a close one, but he got through it, we all did. Yet there are going to be days, when we'll lose people. Good people, friends we care about, but we signed up for this expedition for a reason, and in the whole, I believe they'll be more good, than bad days. Now what say we leave this man to rest, and go to my office for a coffee? I still have some of the good stuff left."

Rodney raked a hand through his hair. "What about the letter?"

Carson folded it, put it in his pocket and smiled. "It'll be here until he's ready to decide what to do."

The scientist nodded. "Fine, I'll ask him about it later."

The Scot nearly choked. "Good luck with that. I may not know him well so far, but I just get the feeling our major is a private man, so I wouldn't hold your breath in getting that reply…

THE END

I little short, non violent tale from me ( for a change!) hope you liked it.


	2. Chapter 2

Well…this was supposed to be a one shot, but as more whump was requested, and 38 minutes is one of my favourite episodes, I was only too happy to oblige. Thanks to **Sterenyk Strey** for the speedy beta on this chapter – of course, all mistakes are mine.

Warnings: A little more bad language in this one.

A LETTER TO DAD

CHAPTER 2

Hurt, frustrated and angry, John stormed away. he didn't know where he was going, he only knew he couldn't stand it any longer. He couldn't, wouldn't, stay in the same house as his father, the man who wanted to crush his hopes and dreams.

He had money. For months now, he'd shunned his allowance, choosing instead to work at the local pizza joint. Weekends, nights, staying under the radar, safe in the knowledge neither dad nor his high class cronies would find out, because junk food, like everything else ordinary people enjoyed – just wasn't their style.

Why? In his heart he'd always know this day would come, as dad had made it pretty clear long ago what he 'hoped' John would do. Hope of course meaning dad expected he would eventually follow his wishes. Go to Harvard, join him and Dave in the family business, because no one defied him – no one that was until now. So from the moment the pressure started, so had his determination to make sure his own plans would succeed.

John was no hypocrite. So, just as he'd determined to follow his own path, he knew independence wouldn't come cheap, and so started to save. He didn't have much, just enough for the greyhound, and a few nights in a cheap motel till it was time to start basic training. John thought of his shiny red mustang with regret. It had been a gift for getting his driver's license, and he loved that car, but he'd made his choice. Dad told him it was either follow the family line, or leave for good. He didn't really want to leave like this, but he was no longer welcome in his own home.

He shivered, and his eyes felt moist. In fact his whole body was shaking, and when he drew his hand across his face, John was surprised to find it wet, but not from tears. Drops of rain were falling from his fingertips, dripping down his face - he was drenched. It was pouring, the rain falling down in sheets but as he took in his surroundings properly, John realised he wasn't in the Sheppard courtyard anymore…

His eyes darted around, shocked to find himself on a long narrow pier, in the middle of a howling gale. He was wearing a hospital gown, but where the hell was he, and when had he gotten sick?

This wasn't right, he hadn't gone that far. Had he? His body was starting to ache and John didn't feel too good, but he couldn't stay there. There must be some clue, someone who could help, but as he went to leave and find out, his legs folded, landing him in a trembling heap on the ground. The world was spinning, and he was nauseous, burning up, even though he was soaked to the skin, and there was a deep, piercing pain rippling through his body.

John raised his eyes to the sky. It was dark, but not so black he couldn't make out tall spires piercing the racing clouds - he was in a city, but this skyline was awesome, unlike anything he'd ever seen before. Wherever he was, John knew he couldn't remain lying in rain, or he'd die there, the way his father said he would. Like a good for nothing deadbeat, worthless, too poor to put a roof over his head, unable to shift his sorry ass out the gutter. Problem was, his arms wouldn't obey him. They were shaking, trembling, and he could barely lift the treacherous limbs, let alone get them to support his weak, useless body.

"Bloody hell, Major, what are you doing out here?"

There was a stocky guy rushing towards him, looking real worried, and John forced his head round to see where this major guy could be, but couldn't see him anywhere. The man with the white coat came towards him and John let him fuss, covering him with a blanket. He was talking to someone, but John couldn't see anyone, there was only two of them out there. Questions were buzzing around his head, and John reckoned he should come clean. Let him know he'd got the wrong guy, as he wasn't even a rookie yet, let alone an officer.

"Thanks…for helping me, but I'm not - not the guy you're looking for." John felt himself go scarlet, but not just from embarrassment, he was burning up. He was also surprised at how weak he sounded, but the older guy on his knees beside him was more than surprised, he looked downright confused.

The Scot stopped and stared at him for a moment, before regaining his composure. "Who do you think you are, son?"

John swallowed, he felt awkward under the close scrutiny. "My name's John. John Sheppard. I've just left home to start my training – I'm going to be a pilot – and I woke up here. Could you tell me where I am, sir?"

ooooOoooo

After twenty years working in the medical profession, Carson thought he'd seen it all, done it all, until that fateful day he took his first step though the Stargate.

At the time, he hadn't been crazy about the unsettling sensation of having all his molecules ripped apart only to be reassembled only moments later. Too much knowledge making him uneasy days later, as he checked and re-checked, he was still one-hundred percent the same son Mrs Beckett gave birth to all those years before.

Yet despite his reservations about travelling through space, he hadn't hesitated when the chance came up to join the expedition. Medicine, specifically the study of genetics had enthralled him even as a young lad studying in Mr Findlay's biology class. The opportunity to perhaps find a cure to cancer, MS, or any of the other countless ailments still plaguing his planet, was too good an opportunity for him to pass by.

What else he'd expected to find out here, Carson didn't know. Life sucking monsters certainly weren't one of the _first_ things to come to mind, nor was running the emergency room from hell. Which, for the moment was taking up most of his time. The unexpected, turning out to be commonplace in Pegasus, including treating a patient with an ugly looking bug latched to his neck, slowly draining away his life.

Carson had thought he'd saved him, but as things were rapidly turning out, removing the bloody creature and bringing the major back from the dead was only the beginning. Now his patient was writhing in pain, as the poison tore his insides into a toxic wasteland. Until the test results came back, he felt useless. Unable to do more than dispense Tylenol, which he could sadly tell wasn't making a dent in the pain. The taut lips, and stain clearly shown in the glazed, pain filled features. The firm set of Sheppard's jaw, as he clenched, trying desperately not to cry out.

Toxins usually acted in the same way – fever, nausea, and sometimes pain. This little bugger was particularly nasty causing the symptoms to be exaggerated, and producing angry, purple welts which were now seeping pus. It was a pale pinkie shade, a colour that looked pretty on young girls, but against the deepening hue of purple creeping up John's skin, was causing him grave concern. Add to the mix the complication Major John Sheppard, had now been – mentally at least – transported back to an eighteen year old youth, was an additional wrinkle Carson really didn't need.

He was trying not to jump to the ready conclusion it was the toxin that caused the memory loss, as stress, including shock, could also have caused this development. However, whatever way he looked at it, John now had to cope with the excruciating agony raging through his body as a mere youth, not an experienced military man, more used to dealing with pain.

Confused hazel eyes searching for answers met his as he approached the bed. Answers Carson couldn't give without causing the lad even more stress. From the time he'd found him lying helpless on the pier Carson could see the bewilderment, sense his apprehension and almost feel the fear John was bottling up deep inside. The _young_ Sheppard just like the older still brave, as Carson watched him contain his feelings at being taken into an unknown place, being cared for by people he didn't recognise and suffering from an ailment no one could explain.

Shortly afterwards, wither through frustration, exhaustion or sheer bloody-mindedness, John had stopped talking. Though he'd remained conscious, something Carson partly regretted as at least sleep would have given some short relief from the agony, but still the eyes continued to bore through him, following wherever he went. Almost as if he was some sort of lifeline, the one thread his patient was desperately holding onto.

"How is he?"

Soft brown curls bobbed around the pretty face, lined with anxiety, as Elizabeth Weir's honeyed tones called out from the doorway.

Carson gave John's arm a pat before turning, and nodding, motioned the expedition leader to join him in his office.

He waited until she'd taken a seat before he spoke. "Not good. Until I get those results back, I daren't risk giving him anything in case they inflame the toxin, but the rash is spreading so if we don't find an answer soon…"

Elizabeth nodded, and brushed a careless hand through her curls. They immediately bounced back around her face. "What about his memory?" She asked. "Any sign it's coming back?

"Honestly, lass, I don't know." Carson's face fell. "The lad either can't or won't speak to me, but from his expression I think he's pissed, because I won't answer his questions."

"Oh…" Elizabeth crossed, and uncrossed her legs. "Do you the toxin could be responsible?"

Carson shrugged. "It could be, but it could also be as a result of the shock to his system." Carson hesitated for a moment, before fishing the letter from his top pocket. "I think this could be significant. The major had just finished writing this, just before he disappeared from the ward." He handed it over.

As she read Elizabeth's eyes grew wide, then met his gaze as she folded it, handing it back. "I see what you mean, Carson. It's almost as if when you found him on the pier, the young John had just had this argument with his father." She paused, then asked. "Will he snap out of it – will we ever get our own John back?"

"Aye, I believe so." Carson said, and saw the woman look visibly relieved. "When, I don't know, but in the meantime this situation isn't helping, as the poor bugger has enough to content with already, without the added confusion he must be suffering."

Elizabeth went to leave, but stopped by the door and stole a glance over at the man on the bed. "Well if anyone can figure this out, it's you, Carson…I have every faith in you, and so does he."

Carson could feel the heat rise in his face. "Thanks, Elizabeth. I just hope it's not misplaced."

ooooOoooo

He was burning up. A fiery pain was sending ripples like barbed wire through his body – he was in agony. Cold, then hot, his blood felt like it was boiling, bubbling up. He felt like a freaking Thanksgiving turkey.

Weird, sick, distorted memories flashed through his brain. In one of them dad was there and they were arguing. John remembered it with sadness; it was the last time they spoke, just before he'd left home. Then all of a sudden the old man turned into a bug and flew at him, latching onto his neck. It hurt like hell as the sharp pincers dug deeper, and deeper, tearing him apart, sucking the very life force from his body. Man…his head hurt.

John was in misery, and couldn't stop the tears roll unhindered down his cheeks. He felt ashamed, grown men didn't cry, it was a sign of weakness – dad said so. He should be sucking it up, after all, what was a little excruciating pain.

Then the lights went out, and when he awoke he still felt hot, but not the raging heat of before. The pain had eased too. It was muted, more manageable, but the fuzzy feeling told him why, along with the dry parched mouth. Carson had doped him with the good stuff.

He knew he should open his eyes, let someone know he was awake, but John still felt like crap. Still, someone had to stop the irritating click clacking noise that was giving him the headache from hell.

"Nmmmgh…"

"Carson!" Rodney shouted, and John winced at the noise. "Sleeping beauty has decided to wake up."

John cracked open an eye only to have it blinded by Carson's penlight. "Car…sun!"

Carson grinned. "Nice to have you back, Major. How are you feeling?"

For a moment John considered saying he was good, but figured no one would believe that. Besides, the pain was starting to notch up again. "Like I've been bitten by a freaking bug, then brought back from the dead."

"But is it really you, Major?" Rodney blurted, and John saw Carson draw the scientist a warning look.

He was about to speak when Carson pushed a straw in his mouth. "Take small sips, Major. It will help ease your throat - better?" John nodded, then Carson took the glass away and sat down by the bed. "Now just ignore this one here," Carson gave Rodney another stare, "you've been very ill, dangerously so in fact. The toxin from that bloody bug was more powerful than we imagined. It caused a high fever, and you've been pretty out of it for several days, but I'm pretty certain you're on the mend now. Be warned though, it is going to take quite a while for your body to get back to normal."

"Thanks, doc. Did I say, or do anything I should know about." John asked, only because he felt he should, but felt nervous about the answer.

"Well, as a matter of fact… Ow! Carson – that was my foot!" Rodney glared at the medic, but Carson didn't look the least bit repentant.

"I'm sorry, but you shouldn't have been standing so close, Rodney. " The Scot responded in an even tone, but John noticed a glint in his eye. "Now, visiting times over, I need to speak to my patient."

"_Fine. _I'll see you later, Major – oh, Teyla and Ford said they'll call by too, once the Gestapo here allows another visit." Rodney glared at Carson, before snatching up his laptop in a huff.

"Thanks, Rodney." John smiled, but was bemused. Why the hell did these guys care about him?

Carson carried on checking his vitals, saying nothing until Rodney had left the ward, but it was John who spoke first. "Spill it, doc – what happened?"

The Scot looked up from what he was doing, seemed to hesitate, then slowly took a piece of paper from his pocket. "After the team left you fell asleep, but later, when you woke up, you became agitated and asked for a pen and paper. Do you remember?"

John shook his head. He couldn't remember a damn thing after the team leaving, apart from feeling shitty and having weird dreams. With a shaking hand he took the paper and as he read down the page, he felt the walls start to close in, as the events of that hellish day came flooding back as if it were only yesterday.

"Major…Major Sheppard - John!" John became aware of a buzzer blaring in the background. When he turned round to see where it came from, Carson was staring at him, looking worried.

"Sorry, Carson – I just got a bit of a surprise, that's all." John realised he'd zoned out, shocked at what he'd written. He attempted a smile, but knew it fell short as Carson went to take the paper from his hands. Despite his weakened state, John held on.

"It's only a letter, John. Whatever happened between the two of you is in the past. You're here now, doing a damn fine job, and if your dad knew, I'm sure he'd be proud of you." Carson met his gaze, held it, and John finally let go of the paper. He felt drained.

For a moment there was silence, then the doctor picked up a syringe, and went to load it into the IV. "You must be in pain, it time for a top up…"

"Carson, there's more, isn't there?" John asked, stopping him by placing a hand on his arm.

Undaunted, Carson finished what he'd started then discarding the empty syringe into the dish, turned and caught his eye. "After you wrote it, you passed out for a while, but when I came to check on you, that's when things got _interesting_."

John was dreading what was coming, but he had to know. "So, what the hell did I do? Take a jumper out for a spin – I didn't run around naked did I?"

Carson shook his head, and wore a half smile which quickly faded. "No – nothing like that, but you did go a bit loopy. Let's just say you lost a few years…about twenty, give or take."

"Right…" But it wasn't. His relief at the knowledge he hadn't run around commando was soon replaced by trepidation, and John felt stunned, he didn't know what to say.

"I found you on the pier," Carson told him. "you were confused, didn't know where you where and…you told me you'd just left home to join the air force."

"Oh." John thumped his head back on the pillow and grimaced at the sharp spike of pain piercing through his neck. Yesterday had been the worst day of his life. Hell, it had nearly been his last, but he really believed after he'd come to and found himself alive, the worst was over.

This was a nightmare, and he closed his eyes, hoping when he opened them again he'd discover it had all been a bad dream. Yet John knew he couldn't get that lucky, the sad fact was it didn't matter where he went or what he did, bad luck followed him around. Besides, even if it didn't, no one could escape their past.

He cracked open an eye and caught Carson still standing in the same spot, watching him. "So…how bad does this get, doc? How many people know -"

Carson interrupted. "They only know you were delirious and ran out onto the pier. Rodney heard you mumbling in your sleep and suspects something, but Doctor Weir and I are the only ones who know the truth. Look...I realise reading your letter was an invasion of your privacy, but we only did it to try and figure out if it was somehow connected to your memory loss – I think it was." Carson drew up the nearby chair and sat down again. "Think about it, Major. Ever since you've arrived in Atlantis, the stain on you has been enormous. First there was the attack on the Athosian settlement, then you had to take over when Colonel Sumner died. And yesterday…well, we nearly lost you, son. It's hardly surprising your mind went walkabout for a while."

"Have you told him, Carson?" John could feel sleep pulling him under, but the lyrical voice of the expedition leader was unmistakable.

"Aye, lass, I have." Carson got off the seat. "I know you want to see him, but only for a minute – the Major's still a very sick man and needs his rest."

John felt the firm pat on his wrist, then the medic walked away leaving Elizabeth to take his place. "How are you feeling, John?"

"Just _peachy. _How do you think I feel after humiliating myself in front of the entire expedition? Not to mention the fact I'm going to have this in my record. If we ever re-connect with the SGC, the brass will send my sorry ass home - can't say I blame them." He whispered the last part under his breath.

"What report?" Elizabeth tilted her head and looked at him with a glint in her eye. "As far as I understand it, the toxin you were exposed to caused a fever so high you became disoriented." She paused and smiled. "At least that's the only thing Carson is putting on your medical records."

"Seriously? Why would you guys do that for me?"

"Why…because you're important to this expediton, John. The people here need you, and I don't care about your past, it's the future of Atlantis I care about. I need Major John Sheppard, my military CO to help me run this place." Elizabeth narrowed her eyes. "You're not thinking of bailing out on me – are you?"

As the words sank in John felt the tension leave his body. Not only had this woman given him a chance to sort out his fucked up life by bringing him to Atlantis, now she'd just given him a second one. He didn't know if he deserved it, reckoned he probably didn't, but one thing was for sure, as long as he had a breath left in his body, he would never, ever, let her, or the people here down.

John smiled. "You know I can be trouble?"

"Whatever you have, bring it on, mister – I can handle it." She returned his smile as she rose from the chair. "Now get some rest, John. I need you fit and well. There's a lot of work ahead for both of us."

"Yes, boss." He raised a hand in mock salute. "And…thanks."

In the dimed lights and hushed sounds of the infirmary, John finally allowed the drugs to pull him towards oblivion. He was still hurting, but not just from the aches in his body. The painful memoires, from a time he'd tried to forget had been ripped wide open, spilling out the guilt he'd carried after leaving the home he'd never yet returned to. If he ever got back to Earth John was determined he would return, re-connect with his brother, and try to make peace with his old man. In the meantime he now knew where his real home lay. The place where he finally fitted in and truly belonged – Atlantis.

THE END.

Hope you enjoyed that, and please review.


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